


Reapers and Rhymes

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, fluff (although that's relative on this show I guess), not quite romance but flirting, the Blake siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting in the dropship with the reaper formerly known as Lincoln, Clarke and Bellamy have a conversation that takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reapers and Rhymes

_There was a little girl,_

_Who had a little curl,_

_Right in the middle of her forehead._

_And when she was good,_

_She was very, very good,_

_But when she was bad she was horrid._

 

After visiting the torched remnants of her first home on earth with Anya, Clarke did not expect to see the dropship again. Yet here she is, sitting near the entrance and looking at the grounder ( _Lincoln, his name is Lincoln even if he doesn't know it himself right now_ ) chained up, once again, in what was once her medical station. She still can't fully wrap her head around the fact that this snarling... thing was once the person who saved her and Finn from certain death, for peace and for the love of a girl who fell from the sky.

Octavia is curled up close by, far enough away to appease her brother's worries but ready to be by Lincoln's side if anything changes. She's fallen asleep after weeping quietly for hours, and even Lincoln's snarling and groaning has dimmed down to heavy, rattling breaths, thanks to a sedative Clarke nicked from her mother's supplies. The sound should be a reminder that whatever else he may be, their one grounder ally is still alive, but their watch nonetheless feels more like a wake.

At least she's not alone, Clarke thinks as she looks at Bellamy, sitting across from her by the dropship door. She is, as always, thankful for his presence even though he was the one who brought her here, asked for her help when she already had her hands full making impossible choices and trying to reconcile the Ark's rule with the experiences of the 100. Of course saying no to her co-leader's request to come with him to the dropship was not an option, not after she reassured him he wouldn't be alone in trying to get into Mount Weather. He went in, with her help, and this is what he brought out. It's not just his problem, it's theirs, and they will share it like they did all the other problems they've had to deal with.

Unfortunately, there's not a lot they can do here right now. They've debated trying to get into Mount Weather and finding out if there's some kind of antidote, but that will have to wait until they know more about their enemy, until they've figured out a foolproof plan of attack and, unfortunately, until they're sure the 47 are safely out of there. For now, all they can do is wait as Lincoln goes through brutal withdrawal, tearing at his chains, moaning and howling and, at one point, trying to bite himself so savagely they have to muzzle him.

Now, an exhausted silence hangs in the air between them. Bellamy's eyes are closed and for a moment Clarke wonders if he fell asleep, but then they blink open to settle on his sister's sleeping form again, a frown creasing his forehead.

“She doesn't deserve this. I thought if only earth was survivable, she'd finally get her chance to be happy.“

He sounds so downtrodden, so dejected, and she doesn't have anything meaningful to reply. It's true, if anyone deserves to be happy it's Octavia, but it doesn't look like anyone's going to be particularly happy anytime soon, and everything else can only be a lie at this point. So she asks instead:

“What was she like, as a kid?“

For a moment, she regrets the question – it suddenly seems too intimate, and when have they ever talked about their families and their childhoods? But the answer is 'always' – he knew why she didn't want to talk to her mother, she knew the lengths to which he went to protect his sister. Just because those stories weren't shared in so many words doesn't mean they weren't shared. And he doesn't seem to mind her probing, replying after only a moment's pause:

“Sweet. Cheeky sometimes, but mostly timid. My mother made sure of that, instilled enough fear in Octavia that she'd never try to leave our quarters or draw attention to herself. But she was insatiable for anything from outside – stories, games, songs...” He seems far away, a fond little smile on his face as he remembers what Clarke hopes were at least a few happy hours in their childhood. “When I was fourteen, I started tutoring kids in our hall just so I could memorise their textbooks – I was running out of stories for Octavia and I could no longer check out children's books at the library without raising suspicions.“

Maybe it's just because she's tired, maybe it's because of the way the edges of his voice and his face and his hard frame ( _sometimes she thinks he's all edges_ ) seem to soften when he talks about his sister. For whatever reason, Clarke is immensely moved by that little glimpse into her friends' childhood. It's such a tiny thing, really, but together with everything else he must have done and sacrificed for his sister over the years, it paints a picture of immense dedication.

She swallows against the sudden aching tightness in her throat, knowing he'd hate to hear pity in her voice.

“I didn't think there was room enough in that head of yours.“

She grins cheekily and is rewarded with a soft laugh. ( _When has she come to think of that sound as a reward?_ )

“You'd be surprised. I could still fill an evening reciting children's rhymes.“

“Really?“ She raises her eyebrows challengingly.

He doesn't immediately start reciting like she expects him to but studies her silently for a moment, head cocked to the side. Then a grin flashes over his face and he begins:

“This was one of Octavia's favourites: 'There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead...“

He's looking at her as he says the words, and she suddenly realises she was twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. Embarrassed but not sure why she should be, she drops her hand.

“...and when she was good, she was very, very good...“

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she feels a little shiver run through her at the way his voice dips low at the 'very,  _very_ good'-part.

“... but when she was bad, she was horrid.“

The combination of his soothing voice and her own exhaustion has apparently made her brain slow down, because it takes her an absurdly long time to process this.

“Horrid?!“

“Well, you do have a way of wanting things to go precisely like you think they should.“

“And that makes me horrid? I'd call that determined...“

“...or stubborn as a mule...,“ he shoots back and she grins, ready to retaliate:

“...or a decisive leader!“ 

This has become a duel, the unexpectedly light turn of their conversation making her feel playful and a little less guarded than she usually is.

“Impossible to argue with and constantly bossing people around...“ 

He is unwilling to back down, signalling as much with one of his infuriatingly cocky grins, and she replies without hesitation, her voice catching on a laugh:

“Oh, like you don't love it!“

If all this silliness was part of an old-timey comedy skit, there would be a 'record scratch'-sound effect at this very moment. No matter how jokingly she said them, now the words hang in the air between them, one word in particular seeming to echo through the unlikely space they've come to call home. Clarke wants to berate herself for the poorly chosen phrase, remembering too well how irritated she was the last time someone used it lightly. ( _Not that she even meant to imply that he..._ )

But then she is struck by how little he seems to mind: His gaze is steady, the teasing smile still in place, and there's not an edge in sight – he's all warm eyes and relaxed shoulders and soft smile, as if to say 'So what if I do, Princess?' In fact, that's basically what he says next, with a shrug and a hint of laugher in his voice:

“Never let it be said that I wasn't man enough to handle a strong woman.“

Clarke is still caught up in the unexpected turn her thoughts have taken, stunned into silence by how easy it was to get there.

“Really, guys? This is the moment you choose to start flirting?”

Bellamy laughs softly at Octavia's sleepy reproach, but Clarke can feel her face heating up, embarassment quickly turning into annoyance. Confusing interactions and unclear boundaries with her co-leader are the last thing she needs right now.

She is saved by the sudden noise of clanging chains from Lincoln, who has jerked awake and is starting to struggle against his chains, going from disoriented little twitches to full-out thrashing in a matter of seconds.

Clarke jumps to her feet, thankful for the distraction. Her brain immediately goes into overdrive as she carefully approaches the monster she tries hard to think of as a patient. One look at her father's watch tells her that this is impossible – he shouldn't be this active again, not so shortly after she injected the sedative.

“His metabolism must be insanely fast....” she murmurs as she approaches, curiosity sparked. His eyes look different than they did before – they're still a little dim from the sedative, but the white sheen from before has started to lift. “Maybe if we...”

Clarke takes another step forward, mulling the idea over, and is suddenly yanked backwards by her wrist. Swinging around with the force of his motion, she crashes into Bellamy.

“Let's keep a safe distance, alright?”

Too excited by the prospect of helping Lincoln, Bellamy's overprotectiveness doesn't bother her for once. Instead of bracing her hands against his chest to push herself away, Clarke holds on to his arms, squeezing excitedly.

“I know how we can help him!”

Bellamy's face lights up, but before he can say anything, Octavia is by her side, insistently tugging them apart.

“You do? How?”

Clarke gives her a quick summary of the idea and then rushes to say that she can't promise anything, that they don't know what they're dealing with and she has no idea how to even put her theory in practice. But apparently, just the spark of possibility is enough for Octavia, who hugs her impulsively.

When she draws back, Clarke can see hope for the first time since she entered the dropship, shining like starlight from Octavia's blue eyes. Maybe just this once, hope will be enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what the point of this is, but I read the little poem and just had to have Bellamy recite it to Clarke.   
> This is a one-shot, I won't write about curing Lincoln - I have no idea what Clarke's plan is.


End file.
